


c'mon

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Language, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon’s pretty sure, even though they’ve tried to hide it from him, that the guys rotate turns “watching him,” and he’s pretty sure it’s Ryan’s week.  They switch every Monday, and they get Sundays off; Spencer even joked on time that it was a full-time job.  He wishes they didn’t feel the need to, but Brendon’s grateful for it, regardless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	c'mon

**Author's Note:**

> Please bear with me. I haven’t done Ryden in a really long time. Also, I’m terrible and was halfway through this when I remembered Brent was supposed to be playing bass and not Jon. Oops.

_Falling for forever, wonderfully wandering alone._

_What would my head be like,_

_If not for my shoulders,_

_Or without your smile?_

_Monday._

_July 4, 2005._

Oh dear God.

 

Brendon shakes his head, instantly clearing the thought.  _You’re not a good Mormon boy anymore, Brendon, stop praying to Him_.  And then he shakes his head again because why the hell is he thinking about this two seconds before they go out onto stage for their first show ever on their first tour ever with freaking _Fall Out Boy_.  Brendon’s pretty sure he’s going to pee himself at any second from excitement.

 

One of the stagehands waves, and Spencer gives him a shove from behind because _of course_ he would miss his cue.  He heads out as Ryan plugs in his guitar, and _Christ_ , it suddenly occurs to Brendon that they don’t know how to do this.  They’re so awkward and fumbling, but then Ryan smiles and nods, and Brendon takes a deep breath, and they begin Martyrdom.  It’s the perfect opening song, and Brendon is pumped up and running around halfway through it.  The rest of the set goes mostly smoothly, apart from Brendon almost crashing into Spencer’s drum set, Ryan accidentally unplugging himself, and Jon throwing up afterward because they’re all so fucking _nervous_.

 

After, Brendon is fidgeting and walking in circles when they finally get off, and he talks to every single person that walks by until Ryan rolls his eyes and takes his hand, squeezing his fingers until he gets the hint and follows him away from the stage.  Brendon’s pretty sure, even though they’ve tried to hide it from him, that the guys rotate turns “watching him,” and he’s pretty sure it’s Ryan’s week.  They switch every Monday, and they get Sundays off; Spencer even joked one time that it was a full-time job.  He wishes they didn’t feel the need to, but Brendon’s grateful for it, regardless.

 

“You okay?” Ryan asks after a few minutes.  They’re far enough away now that they can barely hear the crowd and the crew setting up for Boys Night Out, and Brendon nods, swallowing and taking a long breath.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Ryan just squeezes his hand again.

 

They keep walking, mostly aimlessly, until Ryan smiles and points down the street.  There’s a little coffee shop where Ryan orders and Brendon puts on a play with the salt and pepper shakers.  Ryan flirts shamelessly with the girl behind the counter while she makes their drinks, though he can’t erase the stupid smile from his face everytime he looks over at Brendon and sees him playing.

 

When he returns, he sets down a blueberry muffin with sugar crusted on the top and strawberry banana smoothie in front of the vocalist, receiving a genuine, wide grin.  “Thank you,” Brendon mumbles, and Ryan just smiles wider and sips his iced coffee.

 

“So, we weren’t too clumsy today.  I think it went over pretty well.”

 

“Definitely.  We’ll get better.  Don’t worry.  We’re going to be amazing.  We’re going to be so famous, Ryan,” Brendon says childishly, grinning lopsidedly all over the place.

 

Ryan just chuckles and beams at his best friend, so newly found, and he can’t help but feel infected with Brendon’s optimism.  It’s moments like these that he doesn’t mind keeping an eye on him, that he really enjoys Brendon’s company and can forget about how much he gets on his nerves sometimes, and it’s moments like these where Ryan is really, really grateful for his band.

 

\--

_May it follow you forever;_

_May it never leave you,_

_To sleep in the stone;_

_May we stay lost on our way home._

_Tuesday._

_July 12, 2005._

Ryan can’t believe they’re driving again.  He _hates_ driving so much, he hates being in this van, and he hates everything and everyone around him.  It’s only been a week, and the novelty has already worn off.  He hates, hates, hates all of this.

 

“Stop sulking,” Spencer growls, pinching him under the arm and never taking his eyes off the road, “You look so ugly when you sulk.”  Spencer always knows the right things to say to get just under Ryan’s skin and piss him off the most, but they’re also always the things that pull him out of his stupid angry faces.

 

“Assface,” Ryan mumbles back, pinching Spencer on the thigh.  Spencer just jerks the steering wheel, causing the unbuckled Ryan to crash into the door and groan.  “So much face,” he grinds out, “full of ass.”

 

Brendon makes a noise, and Spencer immediately glances up at the rearview mirror; it’s his week.  Spencer smiles, an actual real smile, and Ryan scrambles to turn around because Spencer Smith _does not smile_ , at least not genuinely, and definitely not at Brendon.

 

But when Ryan turns, he smiles, too, because Brendon is curled up, the top of his head resting against the rain-splattered window, his giant, fuzzy Pooh Bear blanket wrapped around him because they have the AC blasting, and his Build-a-Bear that he forced Jon to help him make tucked away in his arms.  His eyes are closed, and it’s the stillest any of them have ever seen him, unconscious and angelic.

 

“I hate sleeping next to him,” Ryan complains suddenly, and Spencer rolls his eyes, his smile fading.

 

“You don’t have to be such a dick, Ry,” Spencer gripes, leaning back in his seat, “Bren’s a good kid.”

 

“He moves _so fucking much_.  Like, you’re sleeping, stop fucking moving.”

 

“He can’t,” Spencer sighs, and Ryan puts up a hand.  He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to listen to _poor Brendon and his ADHD.  He can’t control it.  Just let him be._   Because then he’ll make some asshole comment like, _Well, why doesn’t he just take his fucking pills, then?_   And Spencer will glare at him because Brendon _can’t_ take his pills and _Ryan should understand why_.  The whole thing just makes him nasty, and then everyone hates him, even Jon who never gets mad at anyone.

 

“Oh my fucking hell,” Spencer swears, “Stop sulking.  You’re such a child.  Go to sleep if you’re going to be like this.  I don’t want to look over and see you acting like a fucking dickwad every five seconds.”

 

“Whatever, Smith,” he snaps, but he goes to sleep anyway.

 

\--

 

Ryan’s woken up by Spencer lightly shaking him, and he swats him away only to have Spencer sigh at him.  “Wake up.  We’re making a pit stop.”

 

“Honestly,” Ryan grumbles, but he straightens and stretches anyway.  Jon is already out of the car and following Spencer toward the rest stop where there’s food, food, food.  Ryan’s stomach growls at him, and he jumps out of the car, only sparing the sleeping Brendon one glance before heading out into the drizzling rain after his bandmates.  He’s an asshole, he knows, but whatever.

 

While Spencer orders McDonald’s with Jon, the two of them chatting away about something music-related, Ryan heads over to the D’Angelos to get a wrap, and, when they sit, Spencer looks at the empty seat next to him.  “Where’s Brendon?  Didn’t you wake him up?” he directs the question to Ryan.

 

“Why would I do that?”

 

“Because I asked you to, Ryan!  For Christ’s sake, you’re the worst friend ever.”  Spencer starts to get up when the front door to the small plaza opens and Brendon enters.  He waves at them before heading over to the counter and digging into his back pocket for his wallet.  Ryan frowns.  Fuck.  Spencer slowly sits down, giving Ryan such a hefty glare that Ryan actually shrinks in his seat a little.  He feels bad because he _is_ an asshole, and Brendon doesn’t even care, doesn’t even glare at him.  He’s such a horrible friend.  He doesn’t deserve Brendon’s kindness.

 

“Great, Ry.  Fucking great.  You leave him sleeping in the car when you _know_ he’s probably hungry, and then he goes and pays for our gas and acts like the sweetheart that he is.  Why can’t you just be nice to him?” Spencer sighs.

 

Ryan watches as Brendon leans up on his tiptoes and points to their van, smiling as the cashier says something.  He puts down two twenties on the counter before leaning back and then slapping down another ten as he rummages around the candies.  He gets his change and slips the bag over his wrist before heading back outside, pulling up his lavender hood.  When he returns, he orders a strawberry shake with his McDonald’s.

 

“I got you guys candy,” he says as he sits, and Ryan groans.  Of course.  “Oh, don’t worry, I only got gummy worms.  I don’t think there’s a lot of sugar in those,” he quickly adds, looking over at Ryan.  That wasn’t even why he’d groaned.

 

“Thanks, little Brenny,” Jon croons, reaching over to ruffle his hair before snagging the bag and opening it on his lap.  “Oh, sick life!” he exclaims, “Sour skittles.”

 

“And a Baby Ruth,” Brendon points out, smiling.

 

“Gah, I love you, Brenny.  Spencer, Reese’s and Hershey’s Almond for you, and I think York and—” Jon pauses, taking out the Lifesavers and passing them and the gummy worms over to Brendon, “Three Musketeers for Ryan.  Om nom.”

 

“Thank you, Brendon,” Ryan mumbles while Spencer hugs him with one arm.

 

They chatter while they eat, and Ryan’s awful mood slips away as he finishes, which Spencer immediately agrees was because he was dehydrated and hungry.  “Whatever, Smith,” Ryan says with a grin.  And Ryan makes a point to talk to Brendon and let Jon have the passenger seat for the rest of their drive that night.

 

\--

_C’mon, c’mon, with everything falling down around me._

_I’d like to believe in all the possibilities._

_Thursday._

_July 21, 2005._

“RYAN!” Brendon hollers ten minutes before they’re due onstage, and Ryan turns, fearful.  “Ryan, Ryan, I have a problem.”

 

“Bren, it’s not my week,” Ryan groans as Brendon skids to a stop in front of him.

 

“Please, Ryan,” Brendon almost begs, taking his wrist and trying to pull him away, “I really need you.  Please.”  Ryan hasn’t ever heard him sound so off, so he follows Brendon a few yards away from the stage where Brendon fishes in his tight pockets until he pulls out his phone and hands it to Ryan, nodding at the message currently displayed on the screen.  It’s from his brother.  That much Ryan gathers before Brendon is _crying_.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, furiously trying to dry his face, “I just… I just,” he hiccups, and Ryan softens immediately, pushing his guitar behind him and wrapping his arms around Brendon.

 

“It’s okay,” he coos, holding the small vocalist tightly, “Bren, don’t let them get to you, okay?  I know it’s hard, especially now, when you’re doing what you love and they go and message you and such.  Don’t let it hurt you, alright?  You did this for a reason, remember?  You love music, and we’re your friends, and you can get through this.  We’ll help you through this.”

 

“Even you?” he sniffles, and Ryan smiles.

 

“Even me.”

 

“Even though I piss you off most of the time?”

 

“I just need to learn how to handle you.”  Spencer told him that once, that there were just certain tricks to learn that would help him understand Brendon and not _deal_ with him, but adapt to him and handle him.  Spencer glared at him when he said he couldn’t _deal_ with Brendon.  _This isn’t about putting up with someone; this is one of your best friends, and you need to understand him.  He’s different, yea, but he’s a wonderful person._ Spencer was always trying to remind him of these little things.

 

“You okay now?” he asks Brendon, leaning back and rubbing his arms affectionately.  When Brendon nods, Ryan clicks his tongue and straightens, curling one finger under Brendon’s chin.  “I love you, Bren.  You’re one of my best friends.  You know that, right?”  When Brendon nods again, Ryan dips his chin and kisses him lightly on the mouth.  It’s a mistake he regrets immediately.  He just always used to do it to Spencer and Jon when they needed cheering up, which wasn’t too often, and it’s just a sign of affection, one he uses only with his dearest friends.  Brendon’s eyes are wide and shocked when Ryan leans back, and Ryan frowns.

 

He does the worst possible thing and walks away, leaving Brendon standing there, completely still and entirely confused.

 

\--

 

_If I should die tonight,_

_May I first just say I’m sorry._

_Wednesday._

_July 27, 2005._

Brendon steers off onto the side of the road because it’s been forever since he last saw a rest stop sign and he really doesn’t want to stop there anyway.  He parks the car, but leaves it running before creeping out; everyone is sound asleep.  He treks down the thankfully not steep decline before leveling out toward the small line of trees.  After stepping a few trees in, he unzips and sets about relieving himself.  When he turns, there’s the ghost of a shape two trees away, and he freezes, trying to melt into the night.

 

“It’s just me,” comes Ryan’s voice before Ryan himself appears, his shape taking on a more solid outline and his face shimmering in the moonlight.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.  I saw you disappear into the trees, and I was worried about you being out here alone.”

 

“Thanks,” Brendon shrugs, trying to shoulder past Ryan, but the guitarist takes his hand as he’s going by before he can dip them into his pockets.

 

“I’ve been avoiding you,” Ryan admits, and Brendon nods.  They just stand there, Brendon staring at the tree in front of him, not turned to Ryan and Ryan staring at Brendon’s shoulder, both of them too nervous and too confused to move.  Finally, Brendon sighs and tugs his hand away only to have Ryan step closer and touch his shoulder.  Brendon turns this time, giving in, and, in one fluid movement, Ryan’s grip tightens and he shoves Brendon against the tree just as his mouth finds Brendon’s in the darkness.

 

Brendon doesn’t respond at first, just stands there, limp and afraid.  But then Ryan emits this small little noise, this tiny whimper of want, and Brendon reacts, lips moving against Ryan’s.  They just stand like that, mouths closed, inches of thick air separating them, and Ryan’s hand on Brendon’s shoulder.  And then Ryan pulls back, and he looks into Brendon’s eyes, unsure.  And Ryan walks away.

 

Brendon stands there, frustrated and confused.  His body is reacting in strange ways to Ryan’s touch, especially his lips, and he’s not so sure he’s okay with it or even understands it, but all he knows is he’s a teenager, and he’s horny, and Ryan Ross just kissed him.  On purpose.

 

\--

 

_I am a man of many hats,_

_Although I never mastered anything._

_Friday._

_May 29, 2005._

For some reason, Ryan notices, Spencer doesn’t yell at him for not watching Brendon, even though it’s his week.  He’s let the rest of his band take care of their crazy little vocalist while he’s spent the entire week avoiding the hell out of him, especially since that night in the woods on Wednesday.  Ryan is terrified of what Brendon might think of him and even more terrified of what happens everytime he thinks of Brendon’s body against that tree, their mouths moving together.

 

“Fuck,” Ryan growls, shifting uncomfortably in his now too-tight jeans.  But he’s been ignoring his begging-for-attention-cock for the last two days, and he knows this isn’t going to go away by itself.  He just needs fifteen minutes alone on the van, and then he’ll be set.

 

He waits a full fucking half hour, mingling and making nice with the bands they’re touring with before excusing himself from a conversation where no one even notices he’s there (he did that on purpose).  He creeps back to the van in the parking lot, sighing when he finds it empty.  He quickly hops into the back seat where the windows are tinted and curls over the seat, fishing around until he finds his bag.  He keeps a bottle of lube just for himself, and he’s only used it _maybe_ twice since they started touring, but he used to use it all the time at home.

 

He squirms out of his jeans and leaves them sitting at his ankles before pulling his cock into his hand and sighing.  He hates Brendon for doing this to him.  Even his name speeds the blood flow, and Ryan just groans and drops a dollop of lube onto his waiting palm.  He’s just getting his rhythm when _holy fuck_.

 

“Just lemme grab my guitar, I’ll be right back!” Brendon.  Holy shit, Brendon.

 

Ryan can’t react in time as the door opens and Brendon laughs, turns, and almost falls.  “Close the fucking door, idiot,” Ryan snaps, and, _of course_ , Brendon gets in and _then_ closes the door.  “I meant with you outside,” Ryan groans, trying to shift away from Brendon’s eyes.  He’s not looking at him, but he’s nervous anyway.  “Brendon,” Ryan says, catching the vocalist’s attention.  And then he realizes why he’s rendered the usually fidgeting Brendon immobile.

 

Even in his head it sounds stupid, but Ryan can’t help it: “Uhm… you could join me, if you want to.”

 

“Is that weird?” Brendon asks, and Ryan’s glad he’s not the only one thinking it.

 

“I don’t really know?” he ends lightly.

 

“I think I’m just going to… uhm… bye.”  And Brendon almost flew out of the van, yelling something about not wanting to play guitar anymore.  Ryan frowns.  He doesn’t even _want_ to masturbate anymore.

 

\--

 

_So don’t leave me and sleep all alone._

_Saturday._

_August 13, 2005._

“Wow, we’re actually staying in a hotel,” Jon sighs appreciatively, staring over the parking lot at the,

 

“Motel,” Spencer corrects, “But, it’s better than the van.  Alright, kids, we have two rooms, and they’re connecting.  Anyone have straws?”

 

“Can Brendon and I room together?” Ryan asks, shocking everyone.

 

“It’s not even your week,” Jon says, eyes wide.

 

“I like Brendon more than you two do,” Ryan says, sticking out his tongue before taking Brendon’s hand and pulling him off.

 

“You don’t even like me that much, Ryan Ross.  You just like to avoid me, and it seems you’re doing a very shitty job of doing that right now.”

 

“Quiet, love,” Ryan says before collecting their keys and heading down the strip toward their room, 117.  Spencer and Jon are in 118.

 

Ryan opens the door before pecking Brendon on the mouth, and Brendon takes it in stride, merely shrugging.  “I call dibs on the shower first!” he yells before throwing his backpack toward one of the beds.  He rifles through until he finds a new set of clothes and his toiletries before heading off into the bathroom.

 

Ryan watches him go, eyeing him carefully.  Things have been weird between him and Brendon.  They haven’t moved forward, but they haven’t gone backward.  Sometimes, Ryan likes to push him against things, never touching him other than with his hand, and he likes to kiss him, but that’s all they ever do.

 

Ryan busies himself unpacking their things and trying out the beds, but he’s restless, and so he goes into the bathroom to pee and wash his face.  He opens the door quietly, hoping not frighten Brendon, but he stops halfway across the threshold because Brendon’s shape is hunched through the glass door, and Ryan can see his arm moving furiously; the other is stretched out in front of him, holding him up.

 

“No fucking way,” Ryan says, pushing the door open.

 

Brendon yelps and jumps back, almost falling, but Ryan quickly reaches forward and grabs his wrist, steadying him.  He kicked off his shoes when he was flopping on the beds, and the fact that he’s fully dressed doesn’t stop him as he steps into the shower, blocking the water flow to Brendon.

 

And this time, when Ryan shoves Brendon against the wall, it’s with his body and not just his hand.  Brendon groans as Ryan’s mouth finds his, and he immediately opens, allowing their tongues to clash.  Ryan’s clothes are sticking to him, but he barely even notices until Brendon is clumsily trying to pull off his shirt.  Ryan pulls back to yank off his shirt, toss it out the still-open door, and unbutton, unzip, and pull down his pants.  He’s not wearing briefs today, and so his hardening cock bounces out before he melds back against Brendon, the small vocalist emitting a soft moan against the contact.

 

“I want you to come for me,” Ryan says, hand slipping down and wrapping around Brendon’s throbbing dick, “Can you do that for me, baby?”

 

“Oh, Ryan,” Brendon groans, bucking into his touch.

 

“Come for me, Brendon,” Ryan purrs, and Brendon just moans in response.

 

\--

 

_If I fall forward, you fall flat._

_And if the sun should lift me up,_

_Would you come back?_

_Sunday._

_August 14, 2005._

Ryan wakes up to the smell of Brendon everywhere.  He stretches, smiling as he feels the numb weight of his arm because it’s underneath Brendon’s bare body.  He tousles his hair with his free hand, and Brendon’s nose twitches in response.  Ryan continues doing so, eventually breaking into belly-aching laughter that wakes Brendon up.  “Face of ass,” Brendon grumbles, and Ryan just laughs harder until, suddenly, Brendon is straddling his waist and stretching above him.

 

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Ryan compliments, staring up at him.

 

  1. It totally and immediately turns Ryan on and Brendon laughs, rocking slowly into Ryan’s hips.



 

“Can I fuck you, pretty please?”

 

“Only because you asked very nicely, princess,” Brendon returns sweetly, and Ryan grins before flipping them, sending Brendon crashing down onto the bed.  He smirks as Brendon grunts before he hops off the bed to find his lube.  It’s minty, and he knows Brendon is going to like it.  He coats his fingers, and Brendon watches, curious, until Ryan runs the pad of his index finger over his entrance, and Brendon’s eyes flutter shut.  He pushes into the tight muscle, sighing when Brendon lets out a little _oof_ followed by a _woah_ that opens his eyes.  He blinks, and Ryan smirks.

 

And then he curls his finger, and Brendon moans, this amazing, wonderful, lusty moan that has Ryan fucking his finger into Brendon’s ass until he can’t stand it, and he adds a second just to watch Brendon twist and squirm and _fucking moan_.

 

“Oh God, Ryan,” Brendon groans, “I want you inside of me.  Fuck, Ryan, please.”

 

Ryan quickly leans back on his heels before coating his hard dick in lube.  He takes Brendon’s legs and hooks them over his shoulders before pressuring his entrance until Brendon is whining, and Ryan loves every second of moving inside of this delicate, beautiful man that is all his.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally listened to _C’mon_ the entire time I wrote this. I already disliked fun. And now I kind of enjoy them. Damn it.


End file.
